


A Crown for a Queen

by Fernstrike



Series: The Age of Telcontar [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Arwen is too sneaky for her own good, F/M, Hobbits Love to Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26222710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fernstrike/pseuds/Fernstrike
Summary: In which Arwen conspires with Elanor Gardner to surprise her wonderful, overworked husband.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel
Series: The Age of Telcontar [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/696645
Comments: 19
Kudos: 40
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	1. A Conspiracy Still Masked

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Flowers for the queen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232160) by [BalrogofAzkaban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalrogofAzkaban/pseuds/BalrogofAzkaban). 



> For the sake of this story, I quietly created a workaround to Aragorn's policy of the Big People - himself included - not entering the Shire in the Fourth Age. Because how terrifically sweet is the image of Arwen, Aragorn, the hobbits, and a tumbling bunch of Hobbit children all partying under the party mallorn with flower crowns? I have also included one bit of movie canon that I hope you'll be kind enough to forgive, as I relish any chance to give Arwen a good comeback. Again, a million thanks to datcilly for this lovely concept from the get go.

In Arwen’s opinion, the whole deception was going rather smoothly. 

She glanced around the small royal retinue making their way under the delicate boughs that arched along the East Road as they approached the Brandywine Bridge.  
  
_That’s too small of an escort,_ Aragorn had fussed. _We’ve certainly improved the North-South road, but I wouldn’t say we’ve secured it._

To which she had gently reminded him, _Yes dear, but do recall the occasion in which I outran nine of the Dark Lord’s servants and temporarily drowned them in the Bruinen. I think I shall be quite alright._

“I still feel rather uneasy that we didn’t tell _any_ of the guard remaining at Tharbad about what’s being planned,” said the captain of her personal guard from behind her.

“That would rather defeat the purpose of a surprise, dear Alwion,” she replied gently over her shoulder. He was keeping a very careful eye out and had been doing so throughout the whole journey, all along the way north and along the Greenway, now trimmed and widened and turned into a proper trading road. He was, nevertheless, too kind and too diligent for her to chide his occasional overbearing nature. And in the end, all was going well so far. They were making good time, leaving a regretful, antsy Aragorn behind in Tharbad to attend to some remaining duties before joining them two days from now. Of course, those duties didn’t exactly originate _in_ Tharbad. 

Bright beams from the spring sun filtered emerald light onto the small contingent of guards and aides that had accompanied her north. Of course, that number now also included Elanor Gardner, tossing her golden locks happily as the sweet, fresh scent of wildflowers was blown to them from the meadows that stretched beyond the thin treeline on either side. 

“It has been good to have been home once more, Elanor,” she smiled, a statement more than a question for it was clear that her maid of honour could barely contain her contentment. 

The Hobbit opened her eyes, giving a broad grin that dimpled her rosy cheeks. “Terrifically good, milady! Not that I had a bad time of it in the South, far from it. But there’s no place like home is there?”

“No indeed,” Arwen acknowledged, stifling the bittersweet pang of nostalgia that pierced her heart when she thought of home - her first home, that is.

“Fastred has prenticed himself with the Chief Record Keeper at the Great Smials, if you’ll believe it,” Elanor went on, patting the neck of her pony. “I never took him for the bookish sort, but it appears all the stories I told him from travelling with Papa and Mama and you and the King have made him keen for a little adventure, too.”

“But not enough to join you in greeting me just outside Bree?” Arwen asked, turning back to happier thoughts and just a dash of teasing. “You must know I am terribly keen to meet him.” It had been over fifteen years since clever, curious Elanor had been made Arwen’s maid of honour, and it was a little difficult to fathom how much she had grown since then. Married and settled with her own Hobbit hole. It was both too hard and too easy to believe how quickly time flew.

Elanor gave a laugh like the tinkling of little silver bells, so different and delicate from those of her mother and father, and really any other hobbit that Arwen had met in the short time she’d known these hardy, wholesome people. “I think that’s why he didn’t come, milady! He’s rather high strung, my Fastred, so he was convinced he had to receive you in our home, in his best suit, and that the garden had to be tip-top before your arrival.”

“Well I think it’s lovely of him to put so much thought into receiving us. I only wish I’d had a chance to travel north for your wedding.”

“I think the birth of your granddaughter is a good excuse milady,” she said, and then her eye twinkled with mischief. “Which rather makes me wonder about the King’s excuse for delaying the ceremony at Michel Delving by two days.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Arwen shrugged, but she had long grown too comfortable with Elanor to hide her conspiratorial smile for long. “The King is staying at Annúminas again for some time and wanted to attend a council in Tharbad in person while on his way. It’s still being rebuilt, and what’s more there are settlers from both our kingdom and from Rohan. There are bound to be many problems that aren’t easily sorted.”

“And…”

“And I may have asked a favour of dear Eowyn to send a missive to a contact in the city, who was asked to come up with a few more problems than were strictly necessary,” Arwen said, ducking her head guiltily, but she couldn’t fully quash how excited she felt. If there was one thing she enjoyed doing, it was planning celebrations for her loved ones. But to do it in secret? To craft and conspire so it was a surprise beyond any expectations? She hadn’t had a chance to do that since…well, since she and her brothers had been together. 

“You know what my husband is like,” she went on, brushing off the memories like the gossamer that fell delicately before them in the late morning light. “He cares far too much to delegate, not if he can be there to help directly. It did take a little more wit to let me travel ahead, but once he knew I’d be meeting you as my escort into the Shire, he was a little more at ease. Nobody would question the Mayor’s daughter hosting one of the Big Folk.”

“It was good of him to make those rules keeping the Big Folk out, for the most part, but it’s also a little annoying, especially seeing as how you’re the Queen. Most of us have neither reason nor desire for you stay away.” 

“That’s kind. I suppose he did it for the greater good.” 

“I suppose. Well, I am glad that at least at your plans have bought us some time, milady! When you sent the message that we’d be putting together a special party for the King, you ought to know that it was like the whole sun had suddenly lit up Papa from inside. He ran to write to uncles Peregrin and Meriadoc. And then he swiftly sat down and all but burst into tears thinking of how much preparation lay ahead of him. I tell you, the Shire hasn’t bustled this much since - well, since Mister Bilbo had his eleventy-first birthday, according to most accounts!”

“I can imagine. Poor Samwise, I shall have give him a nicer gift than the one I’d brought to thank him. After all we’re not just formalising the agreement to give your people more land in the Westmarch anymore.”

“We’re celebrating the King’s birthday too! It’s brilliant. I mean, the accord would have had it’s own party, doubtless, but this means a whole other beast - of the best kind, that is, milady.”

“He never wants to make a thing of it,” she admitted, sighing good-naturedly. “A small dinner in Annúminas would have sufficed for him. You would all have been invited as well, of course. But I kept thinking - what a shame! It’s just three days after we’d have left the Shire. And since your father has specially invited him across the border - playing rather cleverly on emotion to cajole him, I might add, having read the letters as well - it seemed silly to pass up the chance celebrate with you instead. Here.”

“And a good instinct it was too, milady, if you don’t mind me saying,” Elanor nodded sagely. “If you’ll permit me, I’ve heard so much from Papa, and uncles Meriadoc and Peregrin, and even Masters Legolas and Gimli while we were in Minas Tirith. And it’s not so much that King Aragorn takes himself terribly seriously - which he doesn’t always, not hardly. It’s that it sounds like - well, I was never there of course - but from their stories it sounds like it’s been such a long time since he’s had a chance to be who he was before the war.”

Arwen looked at her then, full of that unending wonder that struck Elves, Men, and even Maiar when they spent long enough around Hobbits. Such keen perception and such quiet, common sense. It never ceased to amaze her that what complexities she puzzled over and sought to remedy for her husband, they understood as from their gut, and knew just the right cure. 

“You’ve an even better instinct than I, Elanor Gardner,” Arwen said. Her ears perked up as she heard the low gurgle of the Baranduin flowing by some way ahead. They were close to the border now - and it would be soon time to for their preparations to go into full swing.

* * *

Arwen had spent many hours listening to stories of the Shire from Elanor and Samwise during their time in Gondor, and had even heard bits and pieces from Mithrandir over the years. The image she had conjured in her mind’s eye could hardly capture the vibrancy and simple splendour of the rolling green hills, the bright plum trees were just beginning to bud in the orchards, the beautiful gardens with the heads of lush early roses and bright marigolds turned skywards to catch the light. Farmers tilling the fields stood up to wave their caps at the retinue or stared in awe, nudging their companions in disbelief. All around, their children, hardly as high as her knee, chased the once regal and now rather bewildered Gondorian retinue, laughing and ducking between the legs of her horse, heedless of her warnings to be careful.

“Are you sure you’re alright, your grace?” came the slightly strained voice of Alwion behind her.

“I’ll be just fine, Alwion,” she said, reaching low to take a sunflower almost as big as the tiny hobbit child trying to give it to her. “That’s so kind of you little one, thank you. Mind the hoofs!”

“Queen Evenstar took my flower!” she cheered, running to catch up with her cheering friends who’d taken the ribbons from their hats and were waving them in the air. Arwen had entered cities to the sounds of trumpets, to the city guard on parade, to hundreds of citizens eager to catch a glimpse of the queen and lords eager to say they touched the heel of her shoe or the hem of her riding cloak. And she had never had a warmer, better, or more memorable welcome than when she entered the Shire that day.

“Away with you!” Elanor chided gently, nodding up ahead. “There, milady. We live just a few doors down from Bag End. Father’s at Michel Delving preparing for the ceremony the day after tomorrow, and he may well stay overnight. Doubtless he’ll meet you there! We’ve been quite clever to put the plan together, but I’d best relieve Fastred of his nerves before I tell it to you.”

Elanor directed the retinue to where they could tie their horses in the field below, to no less than three protestations from Alwion. The third time, when he had looked ready to cry out upon discovering there would not be room for all of them inside, Elanor had put her foot down. 

“Really, Captain Alwion,” she frowned, hands on her hips. “There’ll be more danger of you knocking your head into a ceiling beam if you try to come in in such a state - which will put you to very little use for your Queen, mind - but perhaps we should allow you to if it would only calm you down for half a minute.”

He bit his lip and clenched his jaw as if holding in a firecracker about to explode, and Arwen quickly placed a placating hand on his arm. “I shall be quite safe, Alwion. Mistress Elanor has more than enough fire to fight off anything that should trouble us. Why don’t you go settle everyone in the tents Mayor Samwise said would be set up for us near the Party Tree? And in the event they are not set up, you may direct your skills towards discovering their whereabouts.”

He struggled with himself for a moment, then finally sighed and nodded. “But I shall leave one guard outside the building.”

“I would expect no less from such a mindful and committed captain,” she acknowledged with a kind smile, and - blushing just a little - he finally made off with the rest of the retinue. Arwen turned, and saw a stout hobbit in a finely ironed blue silk suit and bouncy brown curls gaping at her from the open door of the home.

“Master Fastred, I presume?” she smiled kindly, bending a little and extending a hand. 

Fastred’s mouth snapped shut and he seemed to panic internally for one moment before taking her hand and bowing low over it. “It is a blessing and an honour to welcome the beautiful Queen Evenstar beneath our humble roof.”

“The honour is entirely mine,” she responded with a gentle laugh. “And though I am a year late, I wanted to congratulate you in person for your wedding to this fine young lady here,” she said turning back to nod at Elanor, who seemed to be practically glowing as she came to stand beside her husband and welcome Arwen inside.

It was perhaps the cosiest home Arwen had ever been inside. She was far too tall for it of course - she had to bend almost double to fit, and kept having to assuage the flustered Fastred that all was well and she was more than happy to do so rather than sit outside, though their garden was terrifically cheery. She was genuinely curious about Elanor’s home and how her people lived. It was a fine place, beautifully carpeted with elegantly bright panelled walls upon which hung paintings - “Mama did this one while pregnant with me!” Elanor said, cheerily pointing out a beautiful piece of the view from the garden. 

“You’ve made a wonderful home here,” Arwen said, settling into a small chair that Fastred graciously pulled out for her. He carefully poured them all tea and they sat together. Elanor caught him up briefly on their ride from Bree, and as the conversation turned to the house and the party preparations, Fastred finally seemed to relax a little and open up. 

“We believe we have almost everything set,” he said earnestly, offering a tray of rosemary biscuits. “We’re just waiting on the fireworks which ought to arrive tomorrow. We have to make our own now, you see, or have them brought in from the mountains East.”

“I’ve heard Thain Peregrin had squirreled away one or two from Mithrandir’s last visit here,” Arwen remarked, raising one brow. 

_Gandalf_ , Elanor supplied in a whisper, and Fastred smiled bashfully. “Ah! Well, we do have one or two in supply as our back-up, that’s true.”

“So how will it work then?” Elanor asked, nibbling on a biscuit.

“The King will be coming along the road directly towards the White Downs,” Arwen explained, setting her tea saucer in her lap. “He will conduct the formal ceremony with Mayor Samwise, they’ll sign the certificate to seal the transfer of ownership, and then he’ll march back along the East Road to take the better paved route up to Annúminas.”

“So that’s where we accost him!” Elanor grinned.

Fastred looked scandalised. “Dear!”

“No, we shall indeed accost him,” Arwen assented. “I saw the road was already lined with pennants for this parade, so it won’t necessarily appear amiss. I’m sure he expects that much. But the moment he comes within sight of the mallorn…”

“That shall be when we raise the banner across the road,” Elanor said. “ _’In honour of the day of King Elessar’s birth! Long may he reign!’_ At least that was the suggested text.”

“It sounds fitting to my ear. And Masters Took and Brandybuck are in charge of the grander elements of hosting, you mentioned?”

“They are going to enjoy it tremendously,” Elanor said. 

“The question is if they can keep it a secret long enough to get to the mallorn,” remarked her husband.

“Honestly Fastred,” she tutted. “You underestimate their dedication to a good show and a better time. We may yet pull it off.”

“Very well,” Arwen nodded, sipping her tea. “The plan is settled then.”


	2. An Unexpected Party (by some, at the very least)

The Gondorian delegation rode into Michel Delving to the boisterous, brassy sounds of a band. All around, hobbits thronged the streets and leaned out windows, casting flower petals that caught in Aragorn’s silvered hair. Arwen watched from her place on the dais beside Samwise, Meriadoc, and Peregrin, hands clasped in front of the mint green dress she had chosen specially for this occasion - one she hadn’t worn since his coronation day, as it were. His eyes lit up when he saw her standing beside his old friends, and she returned his glad grin as he dismounted, flanked by his guard resplendent in their fine black and white dress uniforms. He strode up to the dais, dipping his head respectfully before the hobbits could dip theirs and clasping their hands gladly. 

“It always brings me such joy to see you,” he said.

“And quite a while you’ve been away, too,” Peregrin said, ever one to be cheeky. 

“Then again it is rather a step up from our small square of Eriador to most of the map,” Meriadoc noted, clasping Aragorn’s hand in his own. It was thinner now than when Arwen had last seen him. 

“Something you’ll be a little more familiar with by the end of today, Sam?” Aragorn asked, shaking his hand.

Sam shook his head. “Only so long as there’s peace and plenty.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.”

He kissed Arwen’s hand chastely before stepping to the front of the little stage with Samwise, and read out the decree he had brought with him. Sam looked ready to burst with pride. On his chest glinted the silver brooch of a mallorn, crowned in gold, that she had commissioned and brought as was tradition when it came to any formal event, along with a box of Elanor’s favourite spun sugar and wine from the south. _The exchange of gifts,_ she had told Aragorn long ago when he had been much younger and just coming into his own heritage, _is an essential part of sealing any arrangement, even if it is among leaders you would call friends. Especially so, really._

Sam had gifted them a bountiful hamper of preserves and cheeses from around the Shire, accompanied by a specially quilted child’s blanket depicting a hobbit hole.

“We were in a fix trying to think what to send the Lady Amathel for her new little one,” Sam had admitted when he’d handed it to her, bowing slightly. “No doubt he has all the clothes and toys he could dream of. But there’s nothing so cozy as a quilt to wrap around you by the fireplace. We wanted to give it to you first, but we can send it on to her and the prince after.”

“We can help with that,” Arwen had said graciously, running her fingers over the lovingly quilted, locally dyed fabric. “Prince Eldarion and Lady Amathel will be so pleased. Thank you.”

She returned her attention to the present as the scroll was signed, and then Aragorn handed it to Sam with a slight bow. A gasp of surprise and delight rose up among the onlookers. Arwen, however, was not surprised in the slightest. There would never come a day when her husband did not defer to the kind, clever, courageous hobbits he had travelled and fought with. 

At last they mounted up and began the journey east, and she took her place riding beside him. Elanor rode just behind her, giving a knowing look as they made off. 

“I’m truly sorry,” Aragorn said for the hundredth time since she’d met him near the border. “Who knew six people on a council could have as many opinions when it came to whether or not to have a plumbing system in one district, to say nothing of who should have it and how you are going to tax for it.”

“So a regular day governing the Reunited Kingdom,” she replied.

He sighed, looking skyward. “It’s foolish to be bothered by it, of course. They all have lives to lead, as do their people. And it is them who have too much to build and do that they can’t be concerned by disruptions great and small. That falls to us. But alas for derailed plans.”

 _Not every plan,_ she thought slyly. “There have been too few leaders among men who think or act as you do,” she said aloud, “and after all these years, you know that I speak without guile when I say that.”

“I do.” He reached across to briefly clasp her hand before returning his to the reins, then nodded to where Samwise, Peregrin, and Meriadoc were riding ahead of them. “Though I think they may number among them, too.”

His expression was neutral, but she sensed a tautness in his face. She leaned forward a little. “What troubles you?"

He held her eyes for a moment, the shook his head. "It’s nothing that should be so troubling. But yet another year has cycled round to see me. I suppose I am just heavy with the thought of passing time, and how much is yet left to do. This day marks an end and a beginning."

"Let us celebrate that ending rather than ruminate on it, then, and mark an auspicious beginning."

"Very well. And what are your thoughts on that celebration? I'd be content with this fanfare before we overnight in the Breelands."

"Let's see if we get any ideas as we go along," Arwen smiled innocently, eyeing Meriadoc and Peregrin up ahead, whose heads were bent together as a furious whispered conversation darted between them. She extended her senses just a little to hear them better.

“And what if the nets get stuck?” Peregrin was saying. “Good-bye rain of petals.”

“Look, it was _your_ idea to put them up along the branches in the first place,” Meriadoc returned. “I thought having the children lining the path with baskets of them was good enough.” 

“That would be terribly boring and incredibly out of character, Merry.”

“Right, right,” he rolled his eyes. “And you’re sure the ale and pipeweed arrived, yes? No delays?”

“Of course they arrived, who do you take me for?” Peregrin waved his hand. “They’re all there. And the box we put together for him too. Diamond’s terribly clever with ribbons and the like. It’s all in a lovely bag inside the case-” 

“And Rosie’s painted the lid!” Sam chipped in with a broad smile.

Arwen leaned back and let them continue on with their conversation. That had been her chiefest worry since setting out, admittedly. It had been such a mission to put together this entire conspiracy - involving no less than three different nations in Middle-earth, now that she thought about it - such that she had neglected to choose a gift for her own husband’s birthday. She had even gotten a gift for Sam! Not that it would have been an easy task ordinarily. Before peacetime it had been a far simpler thing. A new travelling cloak; a lighter, stronger bow; a dagger forged by the smiths in Imladris that would never rust; a spool of _hithlain_ she’d procured from her grandmother. Even something as simple as several pairs of new socks woven specially to retain heat was enough to earn her the kind of kiss that felt scandalous before they were married. In the end he had always been practical, which worked just fine for her. But with peacetime she’d had to be a little more creative. 

Her heart began to hammer as they grew closer to the Party Field. She could already see the golden top boughs of the mallorn peeking over the hill.

Then suddenly, with an almighty cheer and the sound of trumpets, they crested the top and the banner was hauled up across the way. A whole host of hobbits lined the road, veering off down the side of the hill to redirect the Gondorian retinue. Aragorn stopped his horse and stared, his mouth falling open just a little. Meriadoc, Peregrin, and Samwise had turned round and shouted a loud, “Surprise!”, lifting their hands in the air. And Arwen couldn’t help it. She laughed aloud, clapping in joy and relief. Aragorn’s stunned expression shifted to a bemused sort of happiness, and - in what was a very rare instance - seemed almost completely lost for words.”

“What is - I can’t believe it! How did-?”

“Believe it,” she insisted, hopping down from her horse and gesturing to him to follow. He dismounted taking her hand as she led him to his friends. “As to how, we have these three enterprising fellows to thank.”

They beamed up at him, and Aragorn sank to his knees and embraced them all. 

“Come, Alwion!” she called to her guard, who was bent over the neck of his horse with a relief so profound he looked totally deflated. “Let’s get everyone into the field and get the food and drink started.”

“We’ll care for the horses,” Elanor called back to him cheekily. “Never fear!”

The great mallorn tree Samwise had planted years ago towered over a green field resplendent with wicker archways garlanded with early spring blossoms. Tables upon tables were laid out and heaped with breads, cheeses, fruits, jams, pastries, candies, and barrels of ale. Arwen led Aragorn along by the hand as the hobbit children lining the path gaped at them in wonder and cast petals along their path.

On her other side Elanor tugged her hand, leading her over to a table piled with sweetmeats and other sugary treats. “These were the fireweed honey sticks I mentioned to you back in Minas Tirith, milady!” she aid, picking up several reddish rods wrapped in thin paper. 

Arwen unrolled one and bit off the end. It was soft and melted on her tongue, tasting indeed like a sharper version of the cane they imported from Haradwaith.

“As delicious as you said!” she exclaimed. “Here, Aragorn, try one. You too, Alwion.” He had just taken a bite, doing a poor job at hiding his dreamy expression that was mirrored by the Captain - if tinged with more confusion - and was beginning to remark on its similarity to his favourite spun sugar desserts when the three hobbits returned to them, Sam carrying a box in his hands with the tips of his ears turning red.

“Seeing as we’ve done the formal gifting,” he said, “here’s something just from the three of us. For you.”

Aragorn sat at the bench alongside the table, taking the box gratefully. “May I open it? What is your custom?”

“Do,” Peregrin insisted. “Aside from it indeed being the custom, we absolutely need to see your face when you open it.”

Aragorn complied with a kind nod, untying the beautiful ribbon and the attached rosette. Arwen beamed broadly as first he complimented the painting, and then burst into laughter open opening the box and being faced with a large quantity of a special-edition crop of Longbottom Leaf. Several hobbit children began to circle around them, and Arwen sat on the grass as they looked at her with starry eyes and gave her flowers and quietly asked if her hair was really made of silk and if she could catch stars with it or if that was just a story. Aragorn’s personal guard had come to stand by them and Elanor was close by with one of Arwen’s aides, explaining all the different variants of bread on the table. Alwion was looking at Meriadoc with stiff concentration, clearly trying to wrap his head around the intricacies of pipeweed variants and their cultivation, when suddenly a great whooshing noise sounded from above them. A rain of petals, gold and white, fell from nets hidden cleverly in the mallorn branches, and picked up by the breeze drifted over the crowd, settling across all the tables and the seats and setting everyone cheering and clapping and singing, save a few of the older hobbits who swept petals from their plates in annoyance.

“Ah,” Peregrin commented. “Perhaps we should have waited until more of the food was eaten.”

The field rang with the strains of fiddles and flutes and the excited beating of a small skin drum as, on cue with the rain of petals, the dances started. 

“Shall we?” Arwen asked, extending a hand.

“Before we do,” Aragorn said, and nodded towards the tree, where fewer people were around. She followed him, trailed by the hobbit children who stopped just a ways away. She cocked her head to the side with what she hoped was an innocent smile and looked to him. “What is it?”

“You said that I had my three dear friends to thank for this,” he said, slowly and carefully, as if working through a particular knot he’d already solved. She found herself hiding the beginnings of a laugh. “Yet they told me that there was another crucial player involved.” He touched her cheek. 

After all these years and she still found herself blushing. “And still I feel rather silly.”

“Why so?”

“Even after all this I was still clever enough to forget a gift for you.”

Aragorn stared at her for a moment, dumbstruck, then kissed her on mouth, caring not for the gaggle of hobbit children that giggled nearby. It was sweet and impulsive and genuine and all too much like the sort they'd snuck in Rivendell in much younger days.

“You organised all of this from Minas Tirith,” he said when he’d pulled back, tucking a strand of hair that had come loose behind her ear as she found herself blushing more furiously than a long-married wife really should (although by whose standards she was judging herself, even she did not know). “You enlisted the help of so many wonderful people to put together this party. You really found a way to make me sit through a two day meeting at Tharbad.” 

“You’d have done it anyway, at some point,” she said, although that wasn’t entirely true. 

He shook his head. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I don’t know what to say. Except that I love you more in this moment now than perhaps ever before.”

It was Arwen’s turn to kiss him now. “Eru knows I love you too.”

They went to dance then, and danced until their feet grew hot in their shoes, then danced barefoot until their soles were green from the grass and red from the movement, until the sky turned to navy and the stars peeked through and cast their gentle light atop everyone’s heads. And at last, the fireworks began. Arwen sat under the pennant-adorned mallorn as as a great silver castle sprang into the air, sparks fizzing out the top as though it were setting off crackers, too. It glinted off the little metal embellishments on Alwion's dress tunic as he and the rest of the entourage, in various states of exhilaration and bewilderment, learned the steps of a particularly fast reel. Through the light and sound even she did not see, until he was right beside her, one of the littlest hobbit children. After a moment, she recognised him as the one who’d given her the sunflower.

“’Scuse me your majesty,” he said, smiling up at her with beautiful dark eyes. “But we gathered some flowers for you, too.”

And he held out a beautiful crown, even more skilfully woven and resplendent with mallorn blossoms and white and yellow daisies. Arwen gasped. Then her joy bubbled up inside her and she broke into a smile - a proper smile, teeth and all, resonant with a laugh as she bowed her head. The little hobbit giggled and stood on his tiptoes, biting his tongue for focus as he settled it on her hair. She carefully straightened up. “How do I look?”

The little fellow looked down bashfully, fiddling the grass with his foot. “Really beautiful, your majesty.”

As she gave him three honey sticks from the pile in her lap, beckoning him to sit beside her, Aragorn took her hand at gazed at her with eyes full of love. “More than that. To me, it shows that you are a queen more than any crown of Men ever could.”


End file.
